Dancing with the Devil
by Alec Shields
Summary: Farfarello POV. A chance meeting between Farfarello and Aya leads to a beginning friendship between the two. Yaoi. HIATUS
1. one

  
  
**Dancing with the Devil**   
  
**Disclaimers:** Project Weiss Kreuz belongs to their respected creators and artists. I am just borrowing the characters for a moment and will put them back once I get done. In no way am I trying to make any profit from this fiction, I am just have way too many plot bunnies that need some airing out. Suing will result in gaining a college loan that will never end and a pair of fuzzy slippers.   
**Warnings:** Some spoilers from the beginning of the series up to Weiss Side B. Lots of swearing, violence, religion dissing, and yaoi will make an appearance in one form or another. Some OOC to be expected because of trying to be all interesting with this. Farfarello POV.   
**Pairings:** Farfarello + Aya right now   
  
***~*~*~*   
  
one - - **   
  
"This is your fault."   
  
I barely even glanced at the redhead, having heard that and similar phrases for the past hour until I felt like telling the guards that I would confess just to get away from him. It wasn't my fault that we had taken on the same hit, nor was it my fault that we happened to arrive at nearly the same time and in the same manner. And it wasn't me that had to break the nice quiet night yelling 'Shi-ne!' at me and drawing that stupid katana of his like he did. He probably woke up the whole bloody ocean with his yelling and carrying on about things three years dead.   
  
And they say that -I- have a hard time letting go of the past.   
  
"Can you hear me, Schwarz? This. Is. Your. Fault." I could feel his glare even as he tugged on his handcuffs, the metal rasping against metal. "Fuck. All the people in the world and I get stuck with the fucking psychopath."   
  
"Sociopath," I replied, glancing at Fujimiya and watching with amusement as he tried to yank his cuffed hands free of the metal piping he was attached to. "Psychopath makes it sound like I have no clue what I was doing. Sociopath since I did know and could care less about its moral implications."   
  
Fujimiya blinked at me, then said in a horror-filled voice, "It can talk."   
  
"It can see that it's in the presence of another human," I replied, looking up at my own cuffed hands. "And if -someone- did not start yelling about 'Schwarz', the guards wouldn't have ganged up on us and throw us in here."   
  
He grumbled something under his breath, the scraping sounds telling me he was trying to push himself up more to get at his cuffs. Craning my neck to something that would hurt a normal person, I could just make out my hands. The guards had done an excellent job, having twisted my arms behind my back then over my head. If I could feel pain, by now I would have been in agony. As it was, I could imagine that much of Fujimiya's struggles were because of the pain of his own twisted arms since he was in a similar position.   
  
After a moment or two, the sounds of him struggling ceased, his cuffs rattling a last time. I looked back over at him, seeing the grim, pale look in his purple eyes, the set of his thin lips. He scowled at me, then blew a few loose strands of his hair from his eyes. It looked like I wasn't the only one to have grown out my hair over the years.   
  
"I don't know why I am trying," he said, looking up at his own bound hands. "Even if I could reach the picks in my hair, my fingers are too numb to actually use them."   
  
I grunted in response, twisting my right wrist then my left, getting a feel of how tight they made my bonds. Then tugging on the pipe to figure out how sturdy it was, I looked around the room, searching for anything that could be useful once I did get free.   
  
"There is a couple loose pipes against the far wall that might be handy if we were free," Fujimiya said, voicing my own estimate. "Two guards at the door, and a window that even you would have a problem crawling through."   
  
"Are you saying that I would try it anyways?"   
  
"Seeing how you have twisted your arms like braids, I'd say yes."   
  
I raised an eyebrow at him, letting my arms hang naturally again, watching the quick, tiny smirk appear on his lips. "Do get over the bloody freak comments now if you expect me to break you out as well."   
  
"Compared to Schuldig, Nagi and Crawford, you aren't that freakish," he replied. "I'd thought that you were just too insane to respond to pain. Or that you just got off of it."   
  
"I'd thought that you barely said anything besides 'Shi-ne, Takatori'."   
  
He grimaced at the name and renewed his own struggles to get free, leaving me to return my attentions to the matter at hand. I jerked my arms hard, feeling my right shoulder give a 'pop' in protest, the cuffs digging into my wrists. But I could also feel the slack on my right hand, as if they didn't tighten it as much as the cuff on my left wrist. I twisted my right arm and hand again, feeling the metal scrape skin and a trickle of blood run down my arm. I did have enough room to get that hand free. Two tugs, maybe three, was all I needed.   
  
"I hope you aren't going to bleed yourself to death on me," Fujimiya said.   
  
I shrugged, looking at my hands and the blood flowing freely from my right wrist. "It would take a lot more than a simple cut to stop me."   
  
He snorted at that, ceasing his struggles. I gave a second tug on my arm, feeling the metal scrape up my wrist and over the widest part of my hand. There was a crack as my thumb was forced into an unnatural position, and some fresh blood to mingle with the blood already there. Almost there. Just half an inch from getting rid of the stupid cuffs.   
  
"You do know that looks very gross," Fujimiya said.   
  
"It doesn't matter what it looks like as long as I get results."   
  
"Looking gross is your special power?"   
  
"Please, Fujimiya, this may be hard to believe, but I have a lot more talents than licking a knife and making derogatory comments at the Catholic Church."   
  
"I am surprised. Are you -sure- you are Farfarello the Insane Bastard from Schwarz?"   
  
"Just as much as I am sure that you are Fujimiya the Ice Bitch from Weiß."   
  
He glared at me and I went back to work. I tugged again, and my hand popped free, dragging with it a fresh amount of blood and probably half of my skin as well. Both of my arms fell, the right one hanging at an odd angle from my efforts, but that was easily fixable. Fujimiya shifted in his corner, metal scraping over metal while I waited for any sounds of alarm from outside our cell. Hearing none, I stood, turned to face the wall and used it to push my arm back into place. I snapped my thumb in place by grabbing and twisting it back, then, unrolling some of the bandages on my upper arms, I wrapped up my cuts and chaffed wrists and thumb.   
  
Fujimiya watched me, wincing at the sound my thumb made when I forced it back into place. He chewed on his lip as I stalked over to the door and peeped out of the small window to see what was going on, then tugged on his own wrists when I went to pick up the two pipes among the clutter in the corner. I glanced at him and he lifted his head, ever the proud, arrogant Japanese swordsman.   
  
I squatted down in front of him and gave his cheek a pat. "Do you want me to contact Weiss when I leave?"   
  
He glared up at me. "I've been working solo for the past year, so I doubt that they would come to my rescue."   
  
I tilted my head to the side. "I could leave you here for the cops to rescue. . . ."   
  
"Or you could set me free."   
  
"And what would be the profit in that?"   
  
"Fifty percent of the take?"   
  
I laughed and shook my head, and leaned even closer, giving him one of my more disturbing grins. "What would you do to be let out of these cuffs?" I clarified.   
  
He stared at me, a flush staining his cheeks. "I'm not into men."   
  
"Did I say that?"   
  
He blinked and shook his head.   
  
"But since you had to say something along those lines," I continued, giving his cheek a pat. "I think the price for freedom will be a kiss, Fujimiya."   
  
He opened his mouth, closed it, and glared at me, his eyes darkening in either disgust or anger. I sat back on my heels, patient as ever, and waited for his decision. We had some time since our guards were busy stuffing their faces when last I looked out the window. He sighed after a minute or two, looked away and muttered something under his breath.   
  
"What was that?"   
  
"Fine, I said!" he snapped, purple eyes nearly black against his flushed cheeks.   
  
I patted his cheek and leaned even closer, tasting his breath. "Good boy."   
  
He opened his mouth, no doubt about to say something scathing, but I took that moment to cover his mouth with mine. His lips were soft with surprise, and I easily pried them open with a nibble on his lower lip. He stayed rigid while I brushed my tongue against the roof f his mouth, tickled the roots of his teeth and rubbed against his tongue slowly. He tasted like sea water, sweat and blood, and I enjoyed every bitter taste of it.   
  
Half way through, he started responding, hot and bitter and skilled. Tongues clashing, mouths moving against each other, teeth clinking against each other, and breaths mingling; a sword dance made flesh between us. He whimpered, his cuffs rattling, his breathing harsh, then I pulled away, giving his lips a final lick.   
  
He blinked, his eyes a deep lilac colour, his chest moving rapidly as he tried to get his breath back. Then his eyes narrowed and he gave a tug on his chains.   
  
"Satisfied?"   
  
"For now," I replied, still tasting him as I bent to undoing his cuffs. A minute later, he was rubbing his chaffed wrists, eyeing the length of gauze I held out to him before taking it silently. He wrapped his wrists up and picked out a length of pipe for himself.   
  
I looked out the window and made a face at our two watchers. They were leaning over the side of the ship, pants around their ankles and no doubt having a crude kind of contest that Americans got a thrill from. Glancing back at Fujimiya, I made a face while nodding out the window.   
  
"The guards leave much to be desired," I said, trying the door to see if they had even bothered to lock it. They had and I gave a sigh, licking my lips that still tasted of Fujimiya. "Though at least they know how to use a lock."   
  
"You sound disappointed."   
  
"Just once, I'd like an easy day when working," I replied, giving the door a thump, then peering out again. "Fuck, they must be deaf as well as stupid. How long does it take to piss anyways?"   
  
"Definitely not this long. Let's try to get their attention together."   
  
I nodded and made room for him. We banged on the door, jiggled the handle, press our faces to the window, and all but blew the thing off its hinges trying to get the guards' attentions. It took the sound of the pipes pounding away to have them drag their sorry asses back to their posts, blink at the sight of us with freed hands and swung open the door.   
  
Americans. When would they start learning that you do -not- open the door on two very annoyed assassins?   
  
I caught the one guard's arm, using my free hand to slam the pipe into his gut then jerked hard on his captured wrist. My move gave Fujimiya room to tackle the other guard, swinging his pipe like it was his damned katana. His man went down while mine struggled to get back to his feet, his free hand trying to punch me. I let go of his wrist, covered his face with my hand, and introduced the back of his head to the floor a couple of times. I only stopped when I heard the crunch and felt his breathing stop.   
  
I got up, wiping my fingers against my wetsuit absently, watching Aya deal the final blow to his target. I retrieved my pipe and looked the guard over, pulling off of him a gun and a machine gun and a couple clips of ammunition but no knives. How I hated guns. I never seem to have much luck at hitting what I was aiming at with them.   
  
"Did you find any knives?" I asked Fujimiya. The redhead shook his head.   
  
"Three guns, and two clips," he replied.   
  
"Americans. What's the point in having guns when I can kill them with my bare hands?"   
  
"Are you pouting, Berserker?"   
  
He sounded like he was inches from laughing. I toed the body before me and crossed my arms, not even bothering to answer him. I didn't want a gun. I didn't need a gun. I wanted my knives so I can cause my kind of havoc against these idiotic dregs of America's waste.   
  
"Here," Fujimiya said in an all too calm voice, thrusting his pipe in my face. "I'll take the guns and you take the pipes."   
  
I took it and watch him loot the body. "I'm glad that someone can aim straight."   
  
"How are we doing this? Working together or split up and meet in the middle?"   
  
I glanced at him, shrugging. "I estimated twenty goons guarding the main target. Now he has eighteen unless he brought in reinforcements."   
  
"I take it we're splitting up?"   
  
I nodded. "I take port side, you get starboard side?"   
  
"Sounds good, but if you see the target, save some of him for me."   
  
"Deal."   
  
"Farfarello?"   
  
I stopped, turned, and looked at him, his hair straggling from his own braid and guns draped over his wet suit.   
  
"If you see my katana, can you bring it back to me?"   
  
"I could. Can you do the same for my knives?"   
  
"Of course. Good hunting, Farfarello."   
  
"Good hunting, Fujimiya."   
  
We parted ways, him going to the one side and me going to the other. The room we were held in was a storage room behind the helm which was empty when I peeked in. Near the prow of the ship was an enclosed cabin area and steps lead down from there to probably more cabins and the engine room. I had figured that the target was either in the large cabin on deck or down below deck. I had also figured that most of his guards would be there with him, keeping him safe as well as licking his boots for better rewards. In the last part, I was wrong.   
  
Three of the guards fell to me when I found Fujimiya's sword being used by an idiot that seemed to think that he was some sort of martial arts master. He hollered, jumped about, waving the katana and another long blade in his hand and looked about as threatening as a pigeon doing a mating dance. I ducked under the swinging blades, jabbed my elbow into his side, grabbed his arm as he stumbled and proceeded to break every bone in his arm. I then used a pipe to cave in his skull.   
  
"Never wave a weapon about if you don't know how to use it," I told the dead man, letting the pipes drop and picking up the two swords. The one was of decent quality, the kind of thing that armatures buy when they think they are getting a superior blade. The other was definitely Fujimiya's katana, the blade sharpened to perfection, the grip well taken care of and the weight of it told how many lives it ended.   
  
It felt almost sacrilegious to be handling his sword like this, without the proper introduction to it. The Japanese samurai had believed that a sword had its own soul and was treated with as much respect as was an honored ancestor. There was a lot of ritual in the care and welfare of katanas, and yet here I was, fingering up Fujimiya's blade without any proper respect. I cleaned off the blade with a strip of clothing from the corpse, appologised to it then slid it back into its sheath. I took the corpse's belt as well, using it to strap Fujimiya's sword to my side and search for other weapons I could use. To my great delight, not only did he had the two swords, but also a nice gathering of decent knives. I abandoned the pipes where they were and took all the knives with me.   
  
I heard gun shots coming from the other side of the ship and smiled to myself. Fujimiya was still alive and kicking ass, as usual. Maybe before that kiss I wouldn't have cared whether he survived or not, but now I'd like to see how the kiss would affect him later on. I do know that our little sword fight in the rain had left him a bit temperamental towards me in our later meetings.   
  
I gave the distant gunfire a salute with the sword and headed towards my next little group of prey.   
  
=====   
  
My feet stuck to the deck as I walked, my wetsuit sticking to my body, and my hands felt like useless clubs at the end of my arms. I put my back against the rail and slid down until buttocks met the deck. Familiar symptoms racked my body; hot skin, itching bones, the feeling of live worms twisting in place of my muscles. I closed my eyes, let my head fall back on my shoulders and felt the wind cool my over-heating skin.   
  
Fujimiya and I had met near the bow of the ship, each of us driving ahead of us a few cowardly guards to trap between us and the sea. A couple had jumped into the water, but Fujimiya shot them as they swam. The rest fought like cornered rats, but between Fujimiya's uncanny sense of knowing where the bullets where and my ignoring the bullets when they hit, the guards were no match for us. The bow looked like a slaughter house, with bits and pieces strewn about, the stench of blood and bowls tainting the sea air.   
  
I didn't open my eyes at the sound of approaching feet, knowing that outside of myself there was only one other person alive on this side of the ship.   
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
Fujimiya sounded worried. I opened my eye, blinking away the haze to get a look at his face. His thin lips were pursed and eyes narrowed, a trickle of blood marring one cheek. I closed my eye, fingers clenching at the surge of heat through my veins.   
  
"Just taking five."   
  
I felt his cool fingers brush my skin, tugging on something stuck to my face. I opened my eye again and saw a long strand of my hair, a reddish-pink from the gore that plastered it to my cheek.   
  
He frowned more, letting the strand go. "You have a fever."   
  
"It'll pass."   
  
He sat next to me, his katana resting against his shoulder. "What is it from?"   
  
"It's just a side effect," I replied, letting my eye closed again. I could feel my broken bones scrape together, bruised muscles reknitting themselves and my heart pumping ten times faster than that of a normal human's. I also knew that the process would later demand ten times my body weight in food or energy to make up for the speedy recovery.   
  
"Of what? Poison? Drugs?"   
  
I sighed. "I am a biokinetic, Fujimiya. Figure it out."   
  
"Bio. . . Life energy? What kind of power is that?"   
  
Some days, I really had to wonder about the intelligence of my fellow man. That Fujimiya knew what the words meant was a surprise, but I wasn't surprised that he didn't know what it truly meant as a Gift. It wasn't as common as telepathy and telekinesis were, though few were as strong as either Schuldig or Nagi.   
  
"The kind that keeps me moving when I should be dead," I replied, standing up. I wasn't about to tell him what it all meant, though if he was as anal as he acted half the time, I knew that he would look the name of it up when this was all over.   
  
He frowned but didn't say anything, standing as well with his katana held protectively in his hands. I didn't glance at him as I headed to the prow of the ship and the main cabin there. Time to get the target and destroy the evidence. We had been taking more than enough time because of the stupidity of his actions earlier.   
  
The trail of corpses lead right to the door, which I eased open in case the target and his associates were waiting for us. The room was quiet and dark, even to my superior senses. I took a deep sniff, catching the whiff of stale cigarettes and booze, but nothing else. I turned on the overhead and looked around.   
  
"Gone?" Fujimiya was almost crawling up my back to see.   
  
"Looks like it. Did you hear or see a boat getting dropped or people trying to swim away?"   
  
"No, I didn't. Do you think that the target would have actually came out to fight us?"   
  
We glanced at each other. We glanced at the trail of bodies going down the deck. We both sighed, and started to check all the corpses for the target. It took us a while but we did find him, half his face caved in from my application of a pipe on his face. The target was the idiot martial artist wanna-be person I killed a while back.   
  
"Hn."   
  
"Guess that means we should just blow this ship and half the award," I said, stopping myself from absently nibbling on a knife. Some habits die hard.   
  
"You're the one that killed him," Fujimiya replied.   
  
I shrugged and poked at the body, scaring away some flies. "Yeah, but still a deal's a deal. You get half, fair and square."   
  
"I suppose talking you out of it would be suicidal on my part?"   
  
"Damn right, Fujimiya. You take your half and grin about it. Now, let's sink this ship and go collect."   
  
After a liberal splashing of gas all over the boat and the added bonus of punctured gas cans in various spots, Fujimiya set the bombs he brought with him while I applied a lighter to the fuse of the dynamite I brought with me. We were off the boat, heading for shore when the first explosion hit, triggering flames, fumes and even more explosions. I turned back to watch it, letting Fujimiya direct the boat since he seemed to know more about it then I did. Parts of it were sinking, other parts were flinging themselves into the air, and still more parts smoldered and exploded some more. Hopefully no one would be able to piece together too much of what happened there outside of some killings. Forensic science might be all well and good but it is not a friend of the assassin.   
  
We made it to shore and he sent the boat off to destroy itself. I made sure he knew my account for my share of the loot before heading off to get my stuff. Time to go home. America was just getting too weird to stay in it long enough to collect for the job.   
  



	2. two

**Author Notes:** Warnings and pairings same as before, this time with a feature of some extra spatting between Aya and Far. Enjoy.  
  
**- two -**   
  
London was a misery when it snowed. In the mornings, before anyone has been up, it covered the ground like soft feathers spilt from a pillow making the stark sky and buildings into a fairy tale scene. But once the snow was disturbed, everything looked brown and tired, like cheap newsprint that's been used then tossed away, gathering piles and becoming slush on the streets and sidewalks alike. I clumped through the mess, just another man in a long winter's coat and heavy winter boots, neither my white hair nor height making me stand out from the crowd.   
  
I slogged from store to store in a vain attempt to empty one of my bank accounts. Toys, clothing, books, food, and furniture were purchased then delivered to the address I gave, the store owners promising that none of my purchases would come to harm during the trip. Finished with the more serious purpose of my trek through the miserable English weather, I made my way towards my next stop. A chocolate shop, in fact, one whose sign proclaimed them 'Makers of fine chocolate since 1859', a claim I doubted by the newest of their storefront.   
  
Stepping inside prove me to be wrong. The store had the old wood of a long ago place, polished to a deep golden brown by loving hands. Containers of thick, smoky glass held old-fashioned penny candies next to sealed candies geared to younger taste buds. The smell of chocolate and caramel hung in the air, mixed with tantalizing traces of honey and butter and milk. I took a sniff at the air, feeling a smile touch the corner of my mouth. Perfect.   
  
I wasn't the only person browsing the contents of the store. A very familiar redhead was frowning down at a collection of red boxes, his face set in serious lines and his shoulders stiff. He glanced briefly at me, purple eyes narrowing before he turned his attention to the display before him, though I knew that he was tracking my every move. Guess he just didn't trust me, though why that was I had no idea.   
  
I gave the display a glance then went in search of something more meaningful than the standard red heart-shapes that over took the English-speaking world around Valentine's Day. I wanted something I knew would be accepted gratefully, having remembered what that was throughout all these years. It took a few minutes to locate what I was looking for, but when I did find it, I was pleasantly surprised by it. I was used to marzipan in fruit and flower forms, but whoever made those boxes had shaped them into fat cherubs and hearts and arrows. Choosing a box, I went to the front to pay for it and spotted him again, still agonizing over chocolates.   
  
I placed my box on the counter and glanced at him, noting that he was dressed for the weather in tweed pants, a familiar orange sweater, and a heavy tweed jacket. He turned his head to look me over then snorted.   
  
"I thought you always wore leather," he said, his English accented pleasantly and his chin rising into the air.   
  
"We are not going to start snipping at each other, are we?" I replied, leaning back against the counter.   
  
He frowned at me. "Why not?"   
  
"Because it gets tiring and I've already had a long day. You looking for a girlfriend?"   
  
He stiffened and his eyes narrowed more. I briefly wondered if he could even see. "I do not need a girlfriend."   
  
I raised a hand. "Take it easy. I meant are you looking for something to buy for your girlfriend."   
  
He snorted and looked back at the chocolates. "Like I would tell you."   
  
"I just want to give you some advice," I replied with a shrug, turning my attention to the bulk candy, starting a mental countdown. I had reached five when he sighed.   
  
"What kind of advice would you give me? Aren't you gay?"   
  
I blinked and looked over my shoulder at him. "I happen to be bi. And women like having special gifts instead of the same kind of candy year after year."   
  
"A lot of help that does me," he muttered, turning his scowl back to the chocolate in front of him. "I don't even know if she likes chocolate."   
  
"Then buy her something nice looking and get yourself some," I replied, picking up various candy bars in their colorful wrappers and putting them back. A particular blue and yellow package caught my eyes, and I recalled the memories of eating that flaky chocolate during my brief time in London as a child. I picked up a package, turned around and leaned over Fujimiya, dangling the Flake bar in front of his nose. "Something like this. It's even better than sex."   
  
He snatched it out of my hand and shoved an elbow into my gut at the same time. "Back off, Farfarello."   
  
I chuckled, not at all deterred by his actions. He was even pricklier than Crawford, which was strange considering how well we worked together last summer. Maybe Fujimiya was not at all happy to even be reminded of the condition I placed on freeing him back then. I didn't care so long as he kept on being amusing.   
  
The store's owner stopped me from playing any more games with the redhead. After smiling at the two of us, he took the box of candies from me and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I got myself a Flake bar and then added to my order forty-seven more Flake bars, gave him an address to deliver the candy too and headed outside into the slushy streets for my last purchase.   
  
As I walked, I ate my candy bar, trying very hard not to let it crumble to bits with each bite. The snow was turning into mush, though the air itself still held onto its bitter wind. I suppose it would make a good excuse for lovers to curl up close for Valentine's night tonight, but it meant little to me. Maybe if things worked out differently, I would have stayed with Sally, but there was something inherentantly wrong with a woman that was so useless like she was. If she broke a nail, she would scream like her whole hand got cut off. She had some sporadic bouts of bravery, but mostly she got annoying after a while. Maybe I just never had any luck with women; either they try to kill me or they try to tie me down.   
  
Not that being tied down was a bad thing. Well, so long as it was just with leather and velvet straps.   
  
I wandered into a couple of flower shops, leaving just as quickly as the staff tried selling me roses and more roses before I could even open my mouth. You'd figured that they would try to ask what a customer wanted before trying to sell him stuff, but I guess the holiday wrapped everyone's mind right about. I stomped some slush off my boots, walked some more and squinted at a storefront full of different kinds of flowers. It had a lot more promise, the center display made out of roses but there were side displays of other flowers, arranged in dazzling styles.   
  
I may be insane, but I do know when colors look nice together.   
  
Opening the door, I stepped into the muggy air of the shop and heard something I did not expect to hear in February in an English shop. Japanese spoken by a real Japanese person in a familiar lively voice. I actually had the urge to leave before I got spotted but I always did have a masochistic streak. Of course Murphy had to make sure that he spotted me, shouting in Japanese and nearly scaring the poor girls fawning over him.   
  
"Shit, Schwarz! What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!"   
  
"Just shopping, there's no crime in that, is there?" I asked, rolling my shoulders and eyeing the blonde behind the other counter. I'd always felt that their employers looked more for types of pretty boys instead of people who were more killer material.   
  
"Like your kind would just shop. I know why you are here, and I won't let you come any where near any of us!"   
  
I raised an eyebrow at that. I often wondered if Weiß got some of their lines from 'Heroes 'R' Us'. Somehow, it sounded like something any hero would say before he got his teeth kicked down his throat by the so-called-villain. That so deserved a reply, something flippant and stupid.   
  
"Ken, enough," Aya said, coming out of the back room. "Don't be such a hot head in front of the other customers."   
  
I hid a sigh and eyed the redhead. There goes that fun.   
  
"But, Aya, he's that lunatic from Schwarz!"   
  
"Enough, you are making a scene." He turned to me, switching languages between one breath and the next. "You have to excuse Ken. His soccer team had lost last night to Ireland's. He must be still feeling hostile towards the Irish."   
  
"I don't blame him," I replied, switching back to English as well and glancing at the brunet to see if he was still foaming at the mouth. "They did get reamed good."   
  
There were some puzzled faces among the customers as they looked from Ken to me and back to Ken again. I kept my face blank, even though I felt like giving Ken an evil maniacal laugh or something just to see how high he would jump. Ken's own features look like it had caterpillars crawling under them before he tossed a bunch of roses onto the counter and stalked off into the back room. The blonde looked from me to him and frowned, following after Ken and calling his name. Aya caught my eye and jerked his head. So I took the hint and went over to him, upsetting some of the people waiting in line.   
  
"Aren't you going to go after Ken and calm him down?" I asked once I was close enough to talk to him without raising my voice.   
  
"Michel is taking care of it," he replied, his purple eyes narrowed and chin raised. "You shouldn't have followed me."   
  
"I have a lot better things to do than follow you," I replied, returning the glare. "It isn't my fault that you have to open a flower shop in England and I happen to be hunting for flowers on a holiday when flowers are given out to people you care for."   
  
His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing then he snorted. "So, what is your excuse to come in here?"   
  
"Looking for flowers, or is it a crime?"   
  
"What kind?"   
  
"Something that means something, not roses or other stupid crap like that, but a specific meaning to them," I replied, shrugging faintly. "Most shops are more in the spirit of the holiday than to really want to figure out what I want the flowers to mean."   
  
He raised an eyebrow, frowning at me. I shrugged and pointed to a holder of irises. "Something with irises in it as well. I want it to mean something like 'remembering friendship'."   
  
Both of his eyebrows went up with that. I made a face and stuck my hands in my pockets. Maybe the whole flower idea should be scraped before I lost my fearsome reputation completely. But Aya was already gathering together flowers, lining up the irises with white bellflowers and some everlasting. I blinked as he began to arrange them in a crystal vase, long fingers fluffing the flowers with delicate ease. It was odd seeing those hands like mine making something beautiful and delicate out of fragile living things.   
  
"Irises normally means 'your friendship means so much to me'," he said as he worked, slipping a purple flower into the growing arrangement. "White bellflowers mean 'gratitude' and everlasting means 'enduring remembrance'. Would that fit what you are thinking?"   
  
I shrugged. "Sounds close enough to me."   
  
"Do you want it special delivery?"   
  
I raised an eyebrow, eyeing his professional, blank expression of happy servitude. Now he was making me feel uneasy, something that I hadn't planned on when I walked into the store. Too late to turn back, I gave him the address I gave the other stores's clerks. As I talked, Ken came back to deal with the other customers, shooting glares at my back, and growling in Japanese about my refusal to die. I pointedly ignored him, since it just seem to make him madder and madder.   
  
Aya wrote down the address, hesitating a moment when I gave the building's name as Our Holy Father's Church, a muscle in his jaw tightening. I paid for the flowers and delivery, gave Ken a nice smirk, and then headed for the streets and some sticky buns for breakfast, and maybe some decent coffee, though British coffee left much to be desired. Give the deliveries an hour or so, then go to visit the church was my plan. And I bet that the Weiß kittens were sweating like crazy thinking that a massacre will happen in that place.   
  
I wish I were there to hear all the yelling that Ken would probably be doing. He was so predictable.   
  
I found a nice little café with freshly painted walls and a modernized interior that tried to hide its roots of being a pub at one time. A lot of business people with slick briefcases and slicker laptops were sitting around the place, communicating into tiny cell phones while typing in their computers. I found myself a corner table and ordered a plain coffee with a cinnamon roll. My order came quickly and I tore pieces of the roll to nibble on while watching the others in the room, my mind on my self-appointed task.   
  
It was hard for me to admit even to myself that I owed the mother in charge of that church a hell of a lot. I never was comfortable with church or churchly people since my childhood, and finding out that she took that path was unsettling to me. But further investigation on my part found that in taking her role, she was able to help more of her 'strays' the same way she helped me. I know that it would feel awkward and I know that I will have an urge to wreck havoc on holy ground, but I also know if I so much as twitched for a knife, the Mother would smack me about the ears and tell me off.   
  
Some how, Crawford always reminded me of her in that respect.   
  
I finished the last crumbling flake and drank the dregs of my coffee, placed some money on the table and headed back out. The roads have indeed turned to slush, and I found myself stomping through the brownish mess trying very hard to not turn around and go back to my nice warm apartment. But I was closer to the church than I was to my apartment and I really shouldn't give the Mother any reason to track me down and give me a box about the ears. So, I dragged myself past the massive bulk of the old church to the rectory and rang the bell.   
  
I rubbed my hands against my coat, and then stuck them inside of my coat, hunching shoulders and glancing around while I waited. I gave the bell another ring, looking around at the drooping shrubbery and battered bricks, tensing as the door opened. I looked down at the woman in a sturdy pair of wide-legged pants and a bulky sweater and opened my mouth, surprised at what I said.   
  
"I'd thought that nuns had to wear the penguin gear."   
  
She wasn't a pretty woman, life had left its marks in her at a young age, drink and drugs digging into her skin and her eyes, but she was far more real than the prettiest of models. She knew what it was like living on the wrong side, and even if she rose above it, it showed in her eyes and face that she knew and understood and cared. The frown between her eyes disappeared and a smile did touch her lips, erasing the lines for only a brief time.   
  
"I should have known," she said, shaking her head and opening the door wider. "You were always one to show up with flowers when you knew that they weren't needed. Come in, come in, and take your boots off at the door. I just finished mopping and I'm not about to do it again."   
  
I felt my muscles relax as I stepped inside. "Of course, Angelica."   
  
=======   
  
Three hours later, I was stalking down the aisle of the church, my boots echoing horribly in the stone hall. I had a lovely talk with Angelica, and even allowed myself to not choke horribly on her brunt cookies she had made. She may have cleaned up her act, went into a new profession and got educated, but she still couldn't cook very well.   
  
She told me that the man who delivered the flowers was probably still sulking in the church, snickering a little as she went on to say that she didn't turn the heat on too high in that building during the day. I could understand that, the church was a huge monster of a stone building and must cost a lot to keep heated. I would offer to donate some money or even a whole account to run the place, but I knew it would be refused. She probably knew deep down that what I did for a living was immoral but she did not refuse the things I bought for the church and the orphanage she ran. But if I offered money, she would throw it right back in my face.   
  
Women were so confusing.   
  
I spotted that familiar red hair and clomped towards him, flopping down in the hard pew next to him. He was wrapped up in his heavy winter coat, fingers tucked into the sleeves of his jacket, his collar pulled up and his neck bent to conserve heat. I smirked at him, stretching out on the pew and waited.   
  
"Come to gloat?"   
  
I tilted my head to get a good look at him. There was the arrogant lift to his head, the almond eyes narrowing and that long nose of his flaring with each breath. I grinned.   
  
"Now why would I do that?"   
  
He spun to face me, his long index finger nearly going up my nose as he jabbed it at me. "You knew what we would have thought by giving us this address and you – purposely – spent the last three hours in there while I froze my ass off!"   
  
I blinked. "It's not my fault that you still haven't a clue. Did you ever read more than the distilled information that Kritiker gave you in those mission files? Or did you allow them to tug on your trigger and let you go off to kill without knowing why?"   
  
"I do not have a trigger."   
  
"Excuse me, but I am not the man that runs around using his sister's name while killing people to pay off medical bills."   
  
"No, you're the man that runs around killing people just for their faith!"   
  
"You know nothing about it, Fujimiya, so keep your nose out of it."   
  
"And you know nothing about me, so stop sitting there telling me all about my life, Berserker."   
  
We exchanged glares and flopped back in our seats, acting like two kindergarten students fighting over a bus seat. He blew on his hands, rubbing them together, and I nibbled on a hangnail, looking at the old cravings and the stained glass windows sheathed in clear glass. He glanced over at me, muttered something then tucked his hands inside of his coat's pockets. I raised an eyebrow, turning my head to see him better.   
  
"What was that?"   
  
"I said, that it's unfair. I'm freezing and you're not even reacting to the cold."   
  
"Look, you didn't have to be out here with a katana under your coat waiting for me," I replied, still feeling a bit short with him. "You could have come inside and have some tea too."   
  
He snorted, "And have you loose all sense and kill everyone here?"   
  
I shook my head, putting my hands behind my head and looked up at the ceiling. "I gather that you never did look into the backgrounds of those priests in Japan, now did you? Three were scam artists, two were rapists, and the rest were not worth the bother. It is really hard to find a person who really believes and follows the true Word. They just follow their greed and their own sense of righteousness. Hypocrites."   
  
I got that long, hard look that people gave door-to-door salesmen talking about the greatest household time saver ever. I raised my right hand, pointing up at the ceiling and the sooty beams and hidden designs.   
  
"When you think about it, sin is just another commodity. A true priest is as poor as dirt, trying to shovel the waves away with a teaspoon. Those who market in sin have gold cars and diamond rings and always gives a form letter in reply to a serious question of the soul. They only care when they can make a profit, which is why places like this have such a hard time. They try to help and they get stomped on for it."   
  
"Oh," Fujimiya replied.   
  
I sighed and stood up, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "Look, I didn't ask you to follow me around and I am not about to go running around ripping people's heads off or streak nude in front of the Queen, so why don't you go back to your shop?"   
  
He didn't move besides tucking his chin under his collar and stuffing his hands inside his coat. I gave a huff, turned on my heel and stamped out. If he decides to freeze in there, then he can't blame it on me. I went off in search for a taxi so I could go home and take a bath.   
  



	3. three

_A.N.: Disclaimers are same as in the first part. I have to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I had planned on getting it out right away, but one thing led to another and I completely forgot. For give me muchly._

**-- three --**

Winter slush had turned into spring rains, leaving London wet and cold and smelling somewhat like a wet dog. I walked down the wet sidewalks, shoulders hunched against the rain, hands stuffed into pockets, and chin tucked against the collar of my trench. Other people moved around me hiding underneath their umbrellas or rushing from building to car using newspapers and briefcases for cover. A young woman ran past giggling as her dress went transparent and her eye makeup ran, a man equally giggly following her.

I was going to a meet and greet having been asked by some person or another about the possibility for working for them. I could – if I decided to play with stocks and bonds – live quite easily on the money I had made over the years as the Berserker, but I was sane enough to know that playing with money had been Crawford's particular talent and not mine. I knew how to save and how to spend, but anything more complicated than credit cards made my fists itch. And since itching fists were not good to have, I was not going to even try.

The only problem with my plan of making the meeting early was that little pricking at the back of my neck telling me that someone was taking too much interest in harmless little old me. Someone among the people walking behind me and around me was actually following me. Someone who was good at following so must be a trained person of the sneaky variety. Someone that made all my 'insane killing senses' tingle. Someone that will regret their actions once I got my hands around their throat.

I sloshed down a couple more blocks, shoulders hunched against the rain, but all my other senses peeled open and ready. There should be a place were I could disappear and wait for my follower coming up here soon. Then the plan would be a simple throat grab, drag off into a corner and beat the idiot into a pulp.

Oh yeah, even I think in clichés. At least it works.

A broken streetlight flickered in a slow pulse, making it easy for me to step into the uncertain shadows and move quickly to a hollow made by the bricking up of a doorway. With my white hair and pale skin, people often thought it was hard for me to hide in the shadows until I prove that I could. I titled my head, shifted my stance and stopped breathing, thinking myself into being just another part of the background.

Unfortunately for me, the person following me probably had the same 'insane killer senses' tingling away for he – or she – stopped just outside of my reach. All I could see was a silhouette of a slender form against the backdrop of light from the nearest street lamp. I could get a better look at the person if I really wanted to try – my left eye had always been stronger even with all the re-growth I did to my right eye – but that meant moving too much which meant they would see me and there would go my surprise. I really hated it when people acted so smart and did not go by the rules. I was wondering if I could just toss a couple of dangers at the person standing just out of reach when a very familiar voice stopped me cold.

"I know you're there, Berserker. Come out and act like a normal person."

I sighed and stepped into the light, scowling at the other man to show that I was not happy. "Fujimiya. Are you trying a new form of suicide tonight? I am in a hurry."

The redhead glared back at me, the rain having made his hair nearly black and his pale skin blue tinged. The cold of the rain did not hold a candle to the way he was glaring at me. If I didn't know any better, I thought that I was going to be frozen into place, a giant insane popsicle that would scare away tourists and the polite muggers that fed off of them.

"I am not committing suicide."

I rubbed my ear to dislodge some water from it and stared at him. He was dressed for work in a trench coat of treated leather, gloves over his hands, heavy combat boots on his feet and some kind of tough trousers. From the rather stiff way he held himself, he also had several weapons strapped to his torso and probably even that damned katana of his. Despite what they show in the movies, those blades were hard to conceal even wearing an ankle length coat unless the blade was held close to the upper body. It was one of the main reasons I preferred my knives or whatever weapon was laying around I could get my hands on despite the advantages of the extra length of a sword.

Besides, it was bloody hard to throw a sword across the room and hit anything. 

"Look Fujimiya, you are following a man that has been known to kill priests for saying their evening prayers wrong. If that isn't called suicide, then I do not know what I am talking about."

"I would believe that only if you know you're walking into a trap," came the sharp response.

I paused, tilting my head to the side while eyeing Fujimiya for signs of any kind of joke or tease or hell even something other than his usual scowl. I ran a hand through my usually spiky hair and then just growled. The scowl cracked just barely into a smug, superior smile. My hands itched to grab him by the neck and give him a shake but I contained myself and instead punched the light post. It shook, bending where I hit it and I scowled at the bend before eyeing Aya.

"I am surprised that no one on any of your teams had tried to kill you yet," I replied, and then looked around before reaching over and grabbing his cuff. His smirk turned into another scowl but before he could protest the mis-handling, I clamped my other hand over his mouth. He tried biting and stabbing me in my ribs but I barely even felt them as I pushed him back into the dark corner I was lurking in earlier.

The kick to the groin I did feel, but with a lot of restraint, I just leaned my hand harder against his mouth, feeling mine split into a more friendly kind of grin. "Suicidal much, Fujimiya? You should remember that I don't go down that easy. Maybe next time your should aim for the heart and kick a bit harder."

I jerked my hand away and patted him on the cheek. He glared, spat and the knife he stuck in my chest was yanked out. "I did."

"Oh?" I took a step back to look at the hole in my chest then sighed, shaking my head. "There goes that shirt."

He frowned at the hole, then at the long blade in his hand. It looked like a dirk – long, thin, with no guard and no shine to the steel. I pursed my lips and grabbed his cuff again, dragging him further down the street. This time the dirk went into my arm.

"Would you knock that off? I am not some kind of weird pincushion," I snapped, looking for a place that was not wet, exposed and empty. I couldn't tell if Fujimiya's co-workers were around in all this wet dampness and I did not want us to look too suspicious standing about in the cold rain talking quietly.

I felt the blade scrape against my arm bone as he yanked it out and heard the soft hiss of annoyance. "Then stop dragging me about like I was a stray dog!"

"Then stop acting like you are a stray dog and actually think instead of attempting suicide."

There. I continue to drag Fujimiya to the open pub until he caught on where I was heading and stepped ahead of me, his dirk going wherever he had stashed it in the first place. I checked the hole in my coat and sweater with my fingers and decided that the rain had washed away most of the blood and the holes would not be noticeable in the atmosphere of the place. Dark clothing was always good when it came towards hiding suspicious stains.

Fujimiya jerked the door open and waited for me, his eyes narrowed and his thin lips pressed together. I grabbed the door as he was about to let it go and followed him inside, ignoring the looks that the locals gave us and jerking my chin at a likely booth. He snorted, and headed for it even as I nodded at the barkeep and ordered two pints of bitters, purposely letting my accent thicken. Paying for the drinks – after a moment's discussion of the weather and faulty cars – I went to the booth Fujimiya was holed up in and set the glass down for him.

"I hate beer," he said, glaring at the pint. 

"Don't be such a baby; at least pretend that you're drinking it otherwise they may think we are truly weird," I replied, taking a nice deep swallow of my pint.

"First I am suicidal then I am a baby, you need to make up your mind what I am, Berserker." He looked at me hard then took a tentative sip. The face he made had me biting back a laugh.

"So now that we are safely away in a local pub where no one is about to start shooting at us, why don't you tell me again what you were saying outside," I said, eyeing him again. "Also why are you running around in your working clothes and not working?"

"I am working."

I choked on my next swallow of beer, sputtered for a few moments, and then sat back taking a long breath of air while trying to clear out my lungs. Fujimiya watched me through this like a smug cat watching the pigeons finding out that their bath water had been switched to acid. I leaned forward and snatched his beer away to wash away the taste of bitter bile from coughing up my lungs. Finishing off his pint, I leaned back and sighed.

"And you took some time out to try for me? That isn't your style, Fujimiya. You need a reason to hunt someone like me down, remember?" 

"How about irritating the fuck out of me?" he snapped back, colour rising on his cheeks.

"That would work if you weren't here trying to rescue me."

He looked away, sighed and looked back at me, glaring so hard I was surprised my brains weren't boiling in my skull. "We were listening in to a conversation that talked about a crazy albino and how they were going to 'fuck the Irishman up'. When Michael spotted you, I put things together and decided to make sure you know what you're walking in to."

"Michael. . . The blond?" His mouth tightened and I nodded to myself, looking at the smoky haze of the pub. So the person at the counter was a member of their odd team instead of being filler for when Weiss was working. After a moment's consideration, I shrugged. I was no Schuldig, with his curiosity and busybody need to know everything about Weiss. The name meant nothing to me as long as he wasn't trying to stab me.

I finished my pint and nodded a Fujimiya, getting up from the table. "Thanks for the warning, but seriously, if there is anything you need to know, your team better get the information out now. If they try to hit me, they will kill everyone in my path, and you know it."

"You're not invincible. All they need to do is chap off your head."

"Read up on it did you? Most people don't use blades weapons and those that do go for the chest or face. They don't think of the neck unless they are trying to slit my throat and that is only a half measure. So, get back to work and maybe I'll see you later."

I ignored the hissing of my name as I plunged back out into the rain and headed for the meet and greet feeling a bit annoyed. I didn't know why Fujimiya had decided to actually warn me, but I appreciated it. I hated surprises and nothing was more surprising then someone turning out to have a grudge on poor little me. It was enough to ruin my faith in humanity if it wasn't already ruined.

It took a hop, skip and a jump over to the building where I was to meet and greet the possible client from the pub. It took less time because I was annoyed and wanting to get the whole night over with. My flat was calling to me, with its nice deep tub and particularly warm bed and I was getting tired and disgruntle enough to slice my way through London if this turned out to be some weird joke. But stepping into the foyer and heading for the room the possible client had given me, I feel the tingle of my mad killer senses going off.

Why did Fujimiya have to right this time?

The first shot fired hit me right below the belt near my kidney and pushed its way through my small intestines out the front of my shirt. I felt only a dull pressure from the bullet and did not even stop walking down the hall. The next two bullets hit me higher up in the back. I let their momentum push me into the wall and slumped there, waiting until I heard footsteps getting closer. Judging the idiots were close enough, I pushed off the wall and onto the nearest body. He grunted, staggering back and I took the moment to yank out my second best knife and plunged it into his groin slicing up. I brought my foot down, twisted my hip and pushed him into his buddy, yanking my blade free with a laugh.

I was hit with several bullets from behind – machine gun, semi-automatic and military issued I automatically guessed – and staggered from the impact. That gave the one in front of me time to push his bleeding friend to the floor and shot me dead center in the forehead with his .375, which laid me flat out on the floor like a broken doll.

I hated head wounds. They were the only things that I could really feel. And they bleed. A lot.

My fingers twitched and I felt the thuds of more bullets hit my chest. There were people cursing around me, Londoner voices with the added edge of being used to killing. Someone was moaning and I felt my lips curl in what was probably a very scary display to those around me. I blinked slowly, the feeling returning to my body as my system forced out the bullets and rebuilt the damaged tissues lightening fast. There was a muted conversation overhead so none noticed my lax grip tightening on my blade until it was too late.

I downed two assailants by hamstringing them and twisted onto my feet. I kicked out, sending one hamstrung person into the wall then brought my knife around slamming it home into an eye socket. I left it there as a pulled out another knife, already body slamming my next opponent with a laugh. Someone tried to put a dent in my skull with a gun butt. I stabbed that person with a backhanded motion and slammed the palm of my free hand into the exposed throat of the person in front of me. More gunfire, but coming away from me, which probably meant I was no longer the only annoyed assassin in the house. I yanked my blades free of the bodies and paused a moment to wipe them clean on someone's coat.

The moment did not last. There was some hoarse shouting and the click of guns being cocked. I grabbed the nearest body – still breathing despite the rather large dent in his chest – and tossed it in the direction of the sounds. There was muffled swearing and I charged the knot of people, ignoring the dull thuds of bullets as they hit. Laughing, I sliced into a couple of arms, ramming my shoulder against another body and bringing both knives back to gut him. I turned, slamming one blade into an ear and snapping my own head forward to crack against someone else's skull. Yanking my knives free, I buried both into the person's chest, feeling the grating of bone against steel as I jerked them out. The tight knot of people collapsed over their wounds and I licked the blood from my lips.

The sounds of fighting were coming from the upstairs. I tilted my head and looked at the people I had already polished off, noting that they were all of the rough and tough variety. They were hired muscle most likely, which meant that the main force was upstairs where the action was taking place. So whoever set this trap did not figure I was as tough as my reputation would have claimed me as being. I really had to shake my head at the stupidity of mankind. Honestly, there was a reason why Este spent all those years tracking me down when I left home and it wasn't for my stunning personality.

I started opening doors, keeping an ear out for the sounds of the fighting. The rooms were mostly empty of furniture outside folding chairs and empty bottles. One room had a gin game in progress and I spent a few moments turning over all the cards to see who had the best hand. Above my head, there were some guttural screams and the sound of bodies hitting the floor hard. I had to snort as I turned up seven aces out of the four hands and then picked up a bottle of nearly full whiskey. I took a sniff and wrinkled my nose at the acid scent before going back into the hallway and searching the bodies. I found a lighter on one and proceeded to rip another's shirt into strips and soaked it in the alcohol. Stuffing the soaked rags into the bottle, I paused for a moment, listening as the fighting grew more intense and footsteps sounded like a stampede heading for the stairs.

The four people running down the stairs was not anyone I knew from either seeing at the flower shop or from my memories of Weiss. I lit the rag and watched them as two turned their guns towards me while two more fired off a few shots up the stairs. They could hold off Weiss if they had enough bullets, but that would only work if Weiss decided to play by the rules and not use windows to go outside and hit them from behind. But I wasn't even going to give them that chance. The moment they tried firing on me, I tossed the makeshift bomb right at them.

A few minutes later, a rather disgruntle redhead was stepping over the burning pile, a bloody sword in his hands. He wore a mask over his features, something I never seen Weiss do in their native lands. It was a bit funny looking and I couldn't hold back a snicker as I removed a bit of glass from my hand. His purple eyes narrowed for a moment before he yanked it off and waved his hand over the mess in the hall.

"You're slowing down."

"I was playing," I replied and raised an eyebrow. "What of you? It isn't like your group to let some bottleneck your team like that."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Different people, different tactics." 

"You're not Weiss?" I raised both eyebrows and shook my head slowly. "Takatori is an arse."

His eyes snapped opened and he jabbed his sword at me. I caught it between my hands and stuck my tongue out at him. He glared more and I let the sword go, pushing him back on his heels.

"Bombay was a honest man but he's Takatori now. We both know this and we both know that he chose to become that. He let Bombay go after the Academy. So now he is an arse."

Fujimiya continued to glare at me his sword dropping to his side, his body tense. I could hear other voices, the lively baritone of the clawed Siberian and a couple that I did not recognize right away. I took a closer step, lowering my voice. 

"Weiss was the best team Takatori could have asked for. Just give you a cause to fight for and morals to defend and you jumped through hoops. Kritiker ran through the maze like good little rats just like Este all the way to their mutual destruction. So here we are, no long Weiss and Schwarz, just Fujimiya and Farfarello. So, what is going to be the next move, Fujimiya? Who is going to tip over their king?"

His eyes bore into mine and without warning his free hand had grabbed onto my hair and he was kissing me. The taste was slightly different from when we on that boat a year or more ago – the salt of seawater exchanged for the polluted rainwater we were under a half hour ago. But everything was just the same – the heat, the anger, the struggle. He pushed me away before I could pull him closer, glared and jerked his chin towards the front door.

"You talk too much, Farfarello. Get out before Ken decides to kill you for annoying him."

I licked my lips and smirked. "That doesn't scare me."

"No, but maybe I do not feel like bandaging you up later on."

I eyed him again wondering if he had finally snapped. "Is that a promise?"

He turned his back on me, bending to wipe his blade clean before sliding it into its sheath. "Take as you will."

I laughed, gave him one last look and left. I never even questioned if he knew where I lived. Fujimiya was trained to find people. He could easily find me. After all, I was not hiding.


End file.
